The Promise
by Westel
Summary: Partners know what it is to make promises that last beyond life, beyond death.


The Promise

by Westel

The helicopter shuddered in the grip of the encroaching storm, the pilot struggling to keep it level. Wind gusts buffeted the chassis, threatening to whip the tail around, and wind shear had knocked the craft to dangerously low levels, uncomfortably close to the trees in the forest below.

The two paramedics and their patient were silent in the back of the copter, the firefighters because they knew the seriousness of the situation, the patient because he was unconscious.

Roy DeSoto affixed the earpieces of the stethoscope once more and took a blood pressure. He looked up at his partner, John Gage, and shook his head slightly. The dark-haired paramedic sighed and held on a little tighter, thinking back on how this day, this god-awful day, had started...

ooOOoo

"And now, before we commit Jesse McCanby's body to the earth, I'd like to read this prayer with which you are all familiar, at the request of his family." The pastor pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and cleared his throat before proceeding with the reading, giving a look of reassurance to the woman and two children seated in front of the casket. The hot wind picked up, fluttering the paper like a captured bird, and the man cleared his throat again before proceeding to read:

_When I'm called to duty, God, wherever flames may rage,  
__Give me strength to save a life, whatever be it's age.  
__Help me embrace a little child before it is too late,  
__Or save an older person from the horror of that fate._

_Enable me to be alert and hear the weakest shout,  
__And quickly and efficiently to put the fire out.  
__I want to fill my calling and to give the best in me,  
__To guard my every neighbor and to protect his property._

_And if, according to my fate, I am to lose my life,  
__Please bless with Your protecting hand—my children and my wife_

Roy DeSoto stood in his dress blues, escort guard for the McCanby family, and fought to keep the tears back, swallowing hard with suppressed emotions. He looked over the heads of the grieving family under the canopy, knowing that if he made eye-contact with Marjorie he would certainly lose it. He knew Joanne

was somewhere in the crowd of families, firefighters and police officers who had come to pay their last respects to this particular fallen hero, their hearts heavy like his, their jaws tight and eyes moist with the loss of one of their own.

How many times had they all heard this hymn, anonymously written, and known that it applied to each and every one of them standing there this early morning? "Service without self" was not only the motto of these men and women, but it was written on their hearts - and the hearts of their sacrificing families, as well.

Today they were gathered to honor this family man and fellow firefighter who had given his life trying to save an elderly gentleman from the burning fiasco of a decrepit nursing home. Neither of them had made it out before the roof collapsed.

Joanne stood next to two other firefighters - strangers, but united in their grief - watching the all too familiar scenario play itself out. Her heart went out to Roy, who was part of the family escort contingent and didn't have the luxury of reaching up to wipe away a stray bit of moisture from his face as she was doing just now. She watched as the flag was folded, then handed to the grieving woman, mother of McCanby's children, and her friend. Roy had served with Jesse right after he had become a firefighter, and their and the McCanby

children went to the same school. The friendship had been a solid one, and they had kept up with one another over the years. Only three days ago Jesse McCanby had been a husband, a father, and a firefighter. Now, he was just a memory. No matter how cherished, he was out of his family's arms forever.

Joanne's breath hitched; she clenched her hands together in front of her, squared her shoulders. They would deal with it, all of them. McCanby's family would be taken care of, and they would all go on. It was best not to think that in the ensuing days and months they might find themselves here again, mourning

the loss of a loved one, a comrade, maybe someone in 51's... _Oh God, Roy_!

"And so, we commit the soul of Jesse McCanby to you, Father, in the care of our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen."

The last words of the pastor broke into Joanne's gloomy thoughts, and she watched the final seconds of the memorial play themselves out. Roy escorted Marjorie and the kids to the funeral home limousine, then walked back over to where Joanne waited for him.

"Hi, honey," he said, and kissed her on the forehead. She hugged him, fearful that if she tried to say anything she'd burst into tears, and Roy didn't need that right now. He put his arm over her shoulders, protectively, and they walked back to the car. He held the door for her, closed it, then stood a moment watching the limousine drive out of the distant cemetery gate. Joanne saw him remove his hat and gloves, then wipe the back of his hand across his eyes. He went around the car and got in, placing his gloves and hat on the seat between them, and looked at her.

"She's going to need our help, Joanne."

"I know. There's always such a flurry after something like this happens, and then the reality of it comes crashing in on you when everyone else has gone back to leading their lives. That's when we'll be there. Before I pick the kids up from school, I'm going over to Marjorie's to take a casserole, and see what I

can do today. Probably take Chris and Jen out to McDonald's for supper since you won't be home."

"You've got a lot on your plate today, Joanne. I wish I could be home to help you, but with missing time today and those brush fires out of control, I don't... "

"Hey," she interrupted, placing a finger to his lips. "You have a full plate, too. I expect Johnny Gage is going crazy with Craig Brice as his temporary partner, so you'll be doing everyone a favor by going back to work. So let's get going, DeSoto." She patted his knee and settled into her seat, glancing in the side mirror to make sure the smile she put on looked genuine. Roy admired her with his eyes a moment, started the engine, and drove toward the station.

ooOOoo

Joanne waved at him as she drove off and Roy entered through the open bay door, noticing immediately the squad was gone. He stopped by Hank Stanley's office, rapping on the doorframe.

"Afternoon, Cap."

"Hi, Roy," Stanley replied, dropping the report he'd been reading onto the stack of paperwork on his desk. "Come in a minute."

Roy went in and sat in a chair next to the door. He fiddled with the hat in his hands, taking the gloves out and throwing them back in again. "Johnny on a run?"

"Yeah, he and Brice have been out about twenty minutes. Should be simple - possible broken arm. Gage's itching for you to be back, believe me."

"I'm sure he is," Roy smiled distantly, then looked back at the hat.

"You okay?" Stanley knew about Roy's friendship with Jesse; the whole station had mourned the passing of the firefighter, but someone had to man the station - Roy would have too, except for the fact that Marjorie had specifically requested that he be in the escort guard. Thankfully, Brice was willing to fill in for him, and for once, Johnny didn't complain. _Where would I be without my friends_, Roy wondered.

"Roy?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I'm fine, Cap. Any more news on the brushfires?"

"Bad. It's only a matter of time before we're called out."

"Yeah," Roy answered, and stood up. "Which is why I'd better change out of these," he continued, pointing at his uniform. Hank nodded, and reached for the Daily Roster, signing Roy in. It was going to be a long shift, he predicted. And an even longer one for Roy DeSoto.

ooOOoo

Johnny Gage was one unhappy paramedic. He had spent the morning with Brice, biting his tongue so often it felt twice its normal size, not wanting to add to the atmosphere which already permeated the station as everyone tried to go about his duty knowing that Roy was at McCanby's funeral. He was determined that he wasn't going to be complaining when Roy got back - he remembered the look on Roy's face when he'd learned of McCanby's death and knew Roy must be having a hard time today. So, he took another deep breath, let it out slowly, and opened the passenger door of the squad.

"Gage, you've rearranged the meds again," came the disembodied voice of Brice, temporarily hidden behind the compartment door of the squad.

"I was in a hurry," Gage started, then spotted Roy coming through the door into the bay area. "Hey, Roy!"

DeSoto threw him a wave and came up beside his substitute. "I want to thank you again for filling in for me, Brice."

"No thanks necessary. I was happy to do that for you, DeSoto."

Johnny came up behind Brice, looking over his shoulder and making faces as Brice rearranged the medical supplies they had picked up from Rampart after transporting their broken arm victim. Roy ran a hand over his mouth to disguise a grin and offered, "Why don't you let me finish that? You must be bushed after doing your own shift and then subbing for me."

"Well, I am a bit below optimum energy levels. Thank you, DeSoto."

Roy clapped Brice on the shoulder and began going through the supplies. Brice left to get signed out and Roy looked over his shoulder at the still silent John Gage, who glanced at him, looked away, and bounced on his toes. Roy looked at him in bewilderment. "What?"

"Nothin'," Gage answered, jamming his hands into his pockets. "Funeral go okay?"

"As well as funerals go. What is it, Johnny?"

"Nothin', I told ya. Quiet morning on the whole. We actually got to eat lunch." Roy turned back to the supply box and smiled to himself. Johnny wanted so badly to rail about Brice but was holding it in, and Roy knew why.

"Well, I hear it's going to get pretty lively soon. The brush fires are out of control and they're starting to call in backup units." Roy shut the supply box and the compartment door, then turned to face his partner. "Brice is a good man."

"Yep. Good paramedic." Johnny fiddled with the keys in his pocket, looking up at the ceiling, out the open bay door.

"When we're called up for the brush fires, Johnny, you're going with me."

Johnny stopped fidgeting and looked his partner square in the eye. He grinned widely. "Yep," he replied and sauntered into the day room, whistling.

ooOOoo

_Joanne! Roy felt his wife's arms torn from around his neck, heard his children screaming his name over and over. He fought through the darkness to see them drawing farther away, a black cloud enveloping him as they cried and called his name again and again. Joanne! _Roy sat up on the couch, breathing heavily, shivering in a cold sweat.

"Roy," Johnny leaned over him. "You all right?"

The blond paramedic's heart was hammering. He raised a shaking hand to his forehead - pushed the soggy hair away from his face. "Nightmare," he said. "Stupid dream. It's what I get for trying to take a nap."

The afternoon had passed slowly. Strangely, there were no call-outs, but everyone was stressed out, waiting for the call to fight the brush fires. The heat was oppressive, and everyone tried to stay out of each other's way; the tension was more than thick - it was a solid block that weighed a ton.

Johnny looked at his friend, saw deep emotion in the man's eyes, and sensed that his friend needed to be left alone. He slapped Roy on the arm and walked out of the room. Roy got up off the couch and went to the sink to get a drink of water. That nightmare had gotten to him more than he realized - his hands were still shaking. He downed one glass and was pouring another when the klaxons went off.

It was the call they were waiting for – the whole Battalion was called out. Roy ran to the squad as the rest of the shift got into their turnouts. The sun was shining brightly as the bay door opened, causing the men to squint against the glare.

"Well, here we go," commented Gage as Roy pulled out of the station, the engine close behind. God only knew when they'd be coming back. Roy just prayed that when they did, it would be all of them.

ooOOoo

The next six hours were a blur to the men of Station 51. They had joined another unit at the base of a hill which crested the oncoming firestorm, working to try to stem the tide of the burning fury in that area. Behind them was another unit, working their way up the other hill opposite in a desperate attempt to thwart the hill-jumping these fires were so famous for. Sometimes the plan worked; sometimes it didn't. Still they worked on.

There had been no injuries that afternoon; Gage and DeSoto had worked side-by-side with the other firefighters, toiling their way up the hill, grubbing out underbrush, digging trenches, hauling up hose, and wetting down the hillside. The sky was black with the smoke of the encroaching fire, and occasional downdrafts made it necessary to wear their SCBA gear as they neared the crest of the hill. Each man stopped periodically to get water, but they sweated it out just as quickly as they drank it. Everyone approached the edge of exhaustion as the afternoon crept by. Chet Kelly was the first to step over that edge - to his left, Roy saw him go down.

"I've got him!" he yelled, and Gage gave him a thumbs up. Roy lifted Kelly in the fireman's carry, finding his burden almost too much for him, yet he staggered on down the hill. As he neared the squad, Roy stumbled in weariness and slammed up against the bumper of the unit, grunting in pain and dropping his charge. He had turned at the last moment to keep Kelly from going head-first into the back of the truck, and his left lower back and side took the force of their combined weight when he hit.

He scrambled up, out of breath, and lay Chet out next to the squad, removing his and Chet's helmets and SCBA gear. Kelly's face was pale and his breathing shallow, his pulse fast as Roy opened his coat. Almost immediately, the downed fireman began to move his head, groaning a little, then opened his eyes.

"What... what... ?"

"It's okay," Roy reassured him, pushing him back gently. "I think you have a little heat exhaustion here."

"Yeah," Chet replied weakly, "Some kind... exhaus.. ."

"Try to drink a little of this," Roy encouraged, pouring some water into a paper cup and supporting Kelly as he drank. "Not too much - just sips."

As Kelly drank, Roy looked up the hill and saw the flames licking the sky above the laboring men. The wind was just too strong. The only thing that could put this fire out was lower temperatures, and no wind. A little rain wouldn't hurt, either, he thought. Strangely, he thought he heard the rumble of thunder in the distance, but if there were clouds up there, he couldn't see them for the smoke.

He helped Chet get his turnout coat off and left him resting on it, going back to the squad. He set up the biophone and turned it on. "Rampart, this is Rescue 51. Do you copy?" Static was his answer. "Rampart, how do you read? Over."

"This is Rampart. Go ahead, 51," came the faint reply. Roy gave them the details on Kelly and it was confirmed that it was probable heat exhaustion. As the victim was responding to cooling methods and hydration, there was no need to bring him in. Roy signed off and slapped the Irishman on the shoulder.

In a few minutes Kelly was sitting on the running board of the truck, drinking more water. Roy checked his vitals again and grinned his satisfaction. "You'd better stay put for another half hour or so. If everything checks out after that, you can go back to work."

"Got it," Chet agreed, not particularly anxious to fight the smoke and heat just yet anyway. Roy hoisted the heavy SCBA back on his shoulders, wincing as the tank caught him in the left area of his back, just below the ribs. He'd probably find a bruise there when all this was over. He took a tentative breath. Maybe a bruised rib, too. Before he could put his mask on, Hank Stanley came running over, handi-talki in hand.

"They've got a man down two ridges over. Looks like extensive third degree burns - you need to get him out right away. They're sending a chopper for you. I'll get Gage, you get your gear."

"Okay, Cap." Roy removed the SCBA gear again and got the drug box, O2, and other equipment he knew they'd be needing. He grabbed the biophone, knowing that it might not be of much use in this rough terrain, but hopefully they could use the chopper's radio if the biophone failed them.

Johnny came down the hill as quickly as his fatigue would let him, stripping off his SCBA gear and gloves. He glanced at Kelly as he helped Roy check their equipment. "You okay, Chet?"

"Oh yeah, just peachy. Right now I wish I was one of you guys, going for a ride in a nice chopper away from all this." Gage shook his head and grinned, looking up at the sound of the helicopter's blades as it landed nearby.

The two paramedics ran for the copter, heads down, carrying their equipment. They scrambled in and were greeted by the pilot.

"Name's John!" he yelled, waving behind his head. Gage looked at Roy and Grinned. Roy shrugged and yelled back his and Gage's names. "Got a storm on the way - could get a little hairy!" John the pilot informed them. "Close her up and let's get goin'!" Roy shut the sliding door of the Huey and the chopper rose from the ground with a jerk.

Suddenly the floor bucked beneath them and John yelled for them to hold on; turbulence from the encroaching firestorm was batting them around like a tennis ball, and the pilot had to struggle to gain altitude. As soon as they rose above flame level, however, going got better, as did visibility. The storm

clouds Roy had prayed for loomed ominously close and he could see shafts of lightning intermittently crease the sky.

"How far is it?" Johnny yelled to the pilot.

"About five minutes from here, on Briar Ridge. There's a clearing; they brought the victim out of the forest so we can get him out quickly."

Johnny nodded and settled back in his seat, easing his shoulders. SCBA gear was heavy, and he was glad to be rid of it for awhile. He noticed Roy was favoring his left shoulder too, flexing it and rubbing it. Roy caught Johnny's eye and grinned.

"I'm getting too old for this, Junior."

"Nah. _I'm_ getting too old for this!" The men shared a chuckle. The pilot overheard their conversation and smiled to himself. He had had lots of experience with hose jockeys and rescue personnel, and the friendships of the partners - like these two - were forged in iron.

Soon they arrived at the clearing. "Coming up now!" John yelled. "You guys brace for a rough landing! There's a storm coming in fast!"

Johnny and Roy held on to the infrastructure of the helicopter as John maneuvered the craft in for a landing. Remarkably, it was fairly smooth, and the paramedics were soon out of the Huey and kneeling beside the victim, who had been brought out of the woods on a stretcher. The fire burned below them, thankfully in the other direction, momentarily fueled by the gusting winds of the approaching storm. Hopefully the storm would break soon and the deluge help the firefighters to get the fire under control at last.

One of the stretcher bearers came over and introduced himself. "I'm David Akers, from Winchester, Virginia, Volunteer Fire Department. A few of us came out to help." He looked down at the unconscious man, his voice shaking. "This is my partner - Jim. Jim Manning."

Roy glanced away from his patient for a moment and looked straight into the eyes of a man who was locked in the grip of despair. He knew just how bad his partner was, of how little there was they could do. He reached up and shook Akers' hand. "Roy DeSoto. My partner, John Gage." Johnny nodded at Akers,

intent on the victim, and let Roy continue the conversation: "We appreciate the help, David. I'm... " Roy looked down at the man, no longer a victim, but a person with a name, with friends - family. He cleared his throat. "We'll do everything we can for your partner."

Johnny checked over Manning who, thankfully, was unconscious. The man was burned over 90 percent of his body; his ears, nose and eyelids were crisped flesh, his fingers gone. The men who brought him out had put clean damp towels over him, but there had been nothing else they could do. Now, as Johnny examined him, he realized there was little more they could do for him, themselves. He placed a rebreather over Jim's nose and mouth and turned up the O2 all the way.

Roy tried the biophone, but got only static. "Let's get him loaded and I'll use the radio to contact Rampart." Johnny nodded assent.

They opted to leave the towels untouched, moistening them again, and loaded the injured man into the helicopter. Roy turned as Akers grabbed his arm, but had no words of comfort for the Virginian. He grasped Akers' wrist for a moment in response.

"Go on, now," Akers said, and released his hold on the paramedic. Roy's jaw tensed; he turned and entered the chopper, closing the door behind him.

The rescue team watched the copter rise above the ridge; Roy saw Akers fall to his knees, the other team members circling him, just before they disappeared from sight.

"Dammit!" he whispered, bringing his left fist down on his knee. The movement brought another twinge to his back and side. Catching his breath, Roy shut his eyes a moment, the memories of this morning pouring back into his mind like water from a breached dam.

Johnny watched his partner sympathetically, amazed at what a day could throw at you. Just this morning Roy had attended the funeral of a friend who had died in the line of duty, brought out of a demolished building battered and burned beyond recognition, and here they were a few hours later, holding vigil over a man who, though still breathing, was already dead. This man was a firefighter like them - moreover, a volunteer from the other side of the country who had just wanted to help - somebody's partner and friend who was dying before their eyes. He could only imagine what this was doing to Roy. Unfortunately, Johnny had a pretty good imagination.

The pilot was trying to raise Rampart, waiting for a patch-in. The storm was interfering with transmission, and the helicopter was bouncing and rattling loudly. "Whoa!" John yelled, as a burst of wind literally knocked the Huey sideways. He dropped the mic and grabbed the control with both hands. "This ain't good!" he advised.

Roy took the stethoscope once more, listening to Manning's heart, taking a blood pressure. He looked up at his partner and shook his head slightly. The dark-haired paramedic sighed and held on a little tighter, thinking back on how this day, this god-awful day, had started...

... and wondered how it was going to end.

ooOOoo

"We're goin' down!" John yelled, still fighting the controls. "Grab onto something!"

Roy threw himself over the body of the stricken man, wrapping one arm around a nearby metal brace. Johnny did the same from his side; together they might have a chance of keeping themselves - and their patient - in one piece.

The tenor of the engine changed as the blades failed to provide the lift needed to stay airborne, and the last sound Johnny heard was the snapping of tree limbs and the groan of twisted metal.

ooOOoo

"Hey!"

_What was that noise?_

"Hey, back there!"

Johnny knew he had to wake up - knew he'd be sorry when he did.

"You guys okay? HEY!!"

He opened one eye and found his nose was about three inches from his knee. Opening the other eye, he realized he was on his back, the biophone under his legs, his right arm under him.

"Roy? Johnny? ROY!?" Gage finally figured out it was John the pilot who was calling out.

"Yeah, John. Hang on a minute." Gage began to extricate himself from the jumble he was in, and gasped in pain when he moved his right arm. "God," he breathed, shutting his eyes and waiting out the first wave of anguish. _I've dislocated that shoulder again_, he realized.

"You okay back there?"

"Sorta. Little banged up. You bleeding anywhere?"

"Nah. I'm caught in the rudder controls. I think my ankle's broke."

Johnny fought to see in the gloom of the helicopter. Day was waning, and a steady rain was drumming on the craft's skin, obscuring what light was filtering through the heavy canopy of trees above them. "Roy?"

Gage stood up, fighting an onrush of vertigo, and braced his right arm as best he could with his left, stumbling over the remains of their drug box, the oxygen canister, and supplies. He blinked to see better, and recognized the shape of two bodies on the floor. Neither was moving.

"Roy!" Gage knelt next to the first body - Manning's, and felt for a pulse.

There was none. DeSoto's body was pinned under Manning's, and Gage had to roll him over to get at his friend. Roy lay on his left side, almost as if he were asleep, his face peaceful and pale.

_Don't you dare be dead, Roy. You hear me? Don't you dare..._

Johnny reached for a pulse and found it, strong and steady. He took a deep breath and called to his friend again while looking for injuries.

"Roy. C'mon, pally, wake up. Roy, wake up, now." He knuckled Roy's sternum and was rewarded with a weak slap to the arm. "That's right. Roy, can you hear me?" He rubbed the sensitive spot again.

"S-stop it." Roy dragged his eyes open, saw Johnny's face leaning over him. "Just... just a nightmare," he mumbled, pushing at Gage's hand, and closed his eyes again.

"Roy, I want you to open your eyes, NOW. Right now, Roy. Open your eyes." Gage didn't like DeSoto's sluggish reaction to stimulus.

"'Kay." Roy cleared his throat. "Okay." He opened his eyes again, raised a hand to his forehead. "Ow."

"You've got a nasty bump. Some bruises, but no lacerations. You're a lucky man, Roy."

Roy's eyes widened abruptly. "Manning?"

"He didn't make it."

"What about John?"

"I'm fine," came the reply from the cockpit. "I'm just stuck!"

Roy started to sit up and his world rocked.

"Easy, Roy, you may have a concussion. Let's go over by the door, all right? If I can get it open, I'll be able to see you better."

Roy agreed, started to move, then stumbled over something; Johnny reached to steady his partner and overbalanced, moving the injured arm and providing an excruciating moment that made the edges of his vision go black.

He felt DeSoto grab him. "What's wrong?"

"Shoulder," he managed through gritted teeth. "Dislocated."

Roy's face was shadowed with concern. "Why didn't you tell me? Come on, let's get outside and check you out."

"Raining," Gage mumbled.

"It's letting up. Besides, I want to check the stability of the helicopter before we try to get John out. C'mon, you won't melt." Roy, realizing the extent of his partner's injuries, forgot his own. He grabbed his reeling friend and helped him to the door which, miraculously, opened wide.

As they exited the Huey, the fresh air revived Gage a bit. Roy led him to a fallen tree, a few feet away from the helicopter, and sat him down carefully. "You hurt anywhere else?" Roy ran a hand over the back of Johnny's head. Remarkably, there were no discernable lumps.

"No - I told you, I'm okay, Roy. Just the shoulder."

Roy squeezed his eyes shut a moment; the light, though growing steadily dimmer, hurt his eyes. Gage noticed this immediately. "Look at me, Roy," he requested, wanting to check his partner's pupil reaction.

"In a minute. I want to see if I can get John out of the copter. You rest there."

"Absolutely," mumbled Gage, looking up at the darkening sky, feeling the rain, now slackened to a drizzle, run down his neck. With his good hand, he turned up the collar of his coat. "I'm enjoying the view," he finished, darkly. Boy, was he glad his friend didn't hear that! Roy was going to have his hands full without having to deal with the famous Gage moodiness today.

Roy climbed over broken branches and mangled saplings of trees and bushes to get to the cockpit of the Huey. He was amazed at the superb job the pilot had done in landing the craft. By the look of the blades and undercarriage, however, the Huey would never fly again. The chopper was tipped to the side, so Roy had to climb on the bent undercarriage to get at the cockpit door. When he reached for the door handle to pull himself up, a sharp twinge went through his left side, taking his breath away for a moment. He steadied himself and tried again, getting the door open easily.

"Sorry to take so long, John. I was taking a look at Johnny... "

"He okay?"

"Yeah, but he has a dislocated shoulder - he's had one before. I think I can get it back in place with your help, maybe. I'm going to try, anyway. But first I've got to get you out of here. Did you hit your head - were you thrown around any when we landed?"

"Nope. I was fighting the rudder and my foot slipped off the pedal when we hit. he fuselage is bent there, see? I think if you grab a wrench from the tool kit there you can pry it up enough to get my foot out."

Roy was examining the ankle, which was swollen twice its size and at a peculiar angle. The skin, fortunately, was unbroken. He blinked, clearing some cobwebs, and knuckled his eyes a moment. Then he reached for the tool kit and found the wrench, and soon had the pilot's foot free. As he worked, the copter shifted its weight a bit, then settled.

"She won't tip, Roy. The blades should prevent that."

Reassured, Roy scrambled into the back of the copter and gathered as much of their supplies as he could, placing them all in one box. The oxygen canister was left behind; there was no use for it now and there was no way he was going to be able to tote it out of there. The same went for the biophone. As he stood up, another twinge shot through his back and shoulder. He leaned against the bulkhead weakly until it passed, his eyes falling on the body of Manning. Something in him couldn't let the man lay there like that, even though Manning was long past caring. Roy grabbed a couple of the towels that had fallen from the man's body during the crash, and covered his face and torso. He would have liked to do more, but this would have to suffice.

He soon had John's ankle splinted and bandaged, and crawled out of the copter first, standing on the undercarriage to help the pilot get out without further injury to his leg. John climbed out onto the undercarriage, then levered himself down the couple of feet to the ground. Roy hopped the short distance to the ground and went down on his hands and knees, staying there.

"Roy?" Johnny called, his instincts warning him sharply. He tried to get up, but the resulting movement of his shoulder brought him down again. "Roy!" Roy pushed himself up, grabbing the undercarriage for support, and swayed a minute. He put a hand to his forehead and shook his head to clear it. _Blast! Roy's got a head injury and John a broken ankle and I've got one good arm. Just great! _

Gage pushed up again, biting his lip against the pain. "Roy, stay right there. John, sit on the undercarriage, okay?"

The pilot acquiesced and Roy leaned against the copter, watching Johnny pick his way across the forest floor. He needed to help his friend - knew what kind of pain he must be experiencing, but his head was pounding and the ground kept shifting under him. His back felt like someone was poking a rod through it, then sending an electric charge up to his shoulder blade. They were in big trouble, and they all knew it.

Taking a deep breath, Roy's vision cleared momentarily, and he managed to help Johnny the last couple of feet to the chopper. The dark-haired paramedic was breathing hard; his face was pale and moist, and his hands trembled. "Johnny, you're shocky. I've got to try to put that shoulder back before we can do anything else."

"I know," Johnny agreed through clenched teeth. "Where?"

"Let's do it in the chopper. John says it's stable, and I can't maneuver you in all this," he said, pointing at the bracken and jumble of branches around them.John climbed in the back of the chopper first and kneeling, he reached down and pulled Johnny up, Roy pushing from behind. They tipped the stretcher back into place and sat Gage upon it, carefully removing his coat. Roy knelt in front of Gage and tapped his partner's knee.

"You ready?"

"As I'll ever be. Let's do this," Gage replied, his voice shaking.

Roy let out a breath and looked at the copter pilot. "Okay, John, here's what I want you to do... "

In the forest, night descended quickly in the cloud-strewn sky. The echo of a sharp scream, suddenly cut off, was soon drowned out in the onslaught of a fresh downpour.

ooOOoo

John woke to more rain and a strange odor, his nose wrinkling at the scent.

There was something familiar... His jaw hardened as he recalled his days in Nam, when the soldiers put the body bags in the Huey for transport out of the jungle and a last plane ride home. Heat and humidity sped up the decomposition process tenfold, and he thought he would never get the smell out of his clothes and hair after such runs. The faint scent of Manning's body brought vivid memories to the mind of the veteran, memories he had kept pushed back as far as he could since returning home.

He glanced at his ankle, checking the toes of his foot. He'd learned a lot from the corpsmen during his tour of duty, and knew the dangers of decreased circulation in an extremity. His toes were pink and warm, however, and he could wiggle them, though it was painful. He slipped the sock back on his foot and looked at the two men who shared his metallic shelter. Both men were asleep still and John hated to wake them, but he knew they weren't going to be found staying where they were. He had examined the tree canopy yesterday while he was outside the craft and noticed that, though a few trees had been disturbed, the basic cover had not. Unlike a plane crash, which usually left a distinct trail, the chopper had gone straight down, causing a minimum of damage to the forest. The weather and diminished daylight would make it virtually impossible to find them, even in a direct fly-over. Their best bet would be to make their way back to the clearing, which should only be two or three miles back up the ridge. The question was, were Roy and Johnny in any condition to walk, much less help him, lame as he was?

He hopped over to Roy, holding on to the superstructure of the copter to keep off the bad ankle, and knelt beside the blond-headed paramedic. The bump on his forehead was smaller this morning, exchanging size for a painful-looking blue and red bruise. His skin was pale, accenting the bruise even further, and there was a fine sheen of sweat on his brow.

John shook Roy's shoulder gently. "Roy?" he whispered.

DeSoto's eyes flew open, settling on John's face. "What's wrong?" He sat up quickly, grimacing and tucking his left elbow to his side.

"Nothin' - nothin'," John reassured him. "Just thought it was time we made some plans on how to get outta here."

Roy looked over at Gage, who had not moved. "Has he been awake?"

"Don't think so," John replied.

Roy had checked on his partner several times during the night and found him to be sleeping naturally, the faint caused by resetting the shoulder relaxing into normal sleep. Johnny would be sore today, but he should feel a whole lot better than he did last night.

"I need to check your foot," Roy began, but John held up a hand.

"Not necessary. Already did it - good circulation, no more swelling than yesterday, toes movin'." John grinned at the paramedic.

Roy grinned back. "You know your first aid."

John's smile faded a little. "Learned it in Nam."

Roy nodded in sympathy. "I wondered if you flew there. You handle the Huey like you did."

"You in Viet Nam?"

"Yeah. Seems like a hundred years ago now."

It was John's turn to nod in sympathy. "Best not to think of it," he advised, and looked at Johnny. "You wanna wake him up?"

"Yeah," Roy agreed, and stood up. His head still hurt, but his vision seemed to have improved overnight and there was no dizziness. He wished he could say the same for his back. He thought he may have bruised a rib when he fell onto the squad yesterday, but this didn't feel the same. Roy had suffered bruised - even broken ribs before, and this was different. He couldn't quite place the symptoms; he'd have to ask Johnny about that when he had the chance...

"Johnny, time to wake up."

Gage opened one eye a fraction, saw that it indeed was daylight - what little there was of it - and rolled onto his left side to sit up without putting a strain on the right shoulder. He groaned with the effort.

"How's it feel?" Roy asked.

"Not too bad. As long as I keep it still, it should be fine."

"That's why I'm going to put some extra Aces on before we head out. I'll just be a minute and we can leave."

"We're leaving the chopper?"

"Yeah," John replied. They won't find us here. We're virtually invisible to anything flying over us. We'll go back the way we came, to the clearing."

"Oh." Gage didn't like the idea of leaving the relative comfort of the Huey, but he knew the pilot was right - if they wanted to be found, they had to get somewhere so as to be seen. "Okay." He felt a little muzzy - they were all probably a little dehydrated. "Roy, you feeling all right?"

"No worse than you, partner. Thirsty."

"John, do you have any water rations on board?" Gage asked.

"Just that little water bottle strapped to my seat. Sorry, half of it I drank yesterday before I picked y'all up."

"It's better than nothing," Roy said. "Maybe we can catch a little rain in it on the way."

John looked at Roy sharply. There was something in the man's voice that didn't sound right, something that tweaked another old memory he couldn't quite resurrect... It was enough to convince him, however, that Roy and Johnny had enough to do without having to take care of him right now.

"You take the bottle with you," he advised, declaring his intention to stay behind. "I can use leaves to gather water for myself."

"We're not leaving you here, John." Roy's expression was no-nonsense.

"Well, why not? Ain't nothin' wrong with me a little cast won't take care of!"

"It's the fire," Gage explained. "I know we're getting rain, but believe me, if it should stop some time today, and it looks like it might, there hasn't been enough moisture to completely put it out. There will be hot spots - and they're a catastrophe waiting to happen. They can flare up again and be out of control before you know what hit you. If that happened around here, you could be incinerated before we could get a rescue team in to pick you up."

"Oh. Well, then, I guess I am goin' with you. Just one question."

"What?"

"How are you two going to manage gettin' my scrawny butt back up that hill?"

Roy grinned at the pilot. He liked this guy; liked his spunk and his selflessness. "You let us worry about that. We're the rescue team, remember?"

_Yeah, but running on low fuel_, the pilot thought.

Thirty minutes later, the three men were toiling up the hill, leaving the chopper behind them. They closed the door carefully to keep animals out of the temporary tomb and took places on either side of the chopper pilot. Because of Johnny's shoulder, he stood to John's right, his left arm around John's waist and John's arm across his back. Roy took the left position, his right arm around John's waist just below Johnny's arm, and the pilot's arm across Roy's shoulders. Roy picked up the makeshift drug/supply box, took a deep breath, and they started off. Soon they were swallowed up by the trees.

ooOOoo

The rain had ceased, leaving the air moist and foggy in the dense forest. The men had stopped for a minute after nearly two hours of climbing, sitting on whatever they could find to keep them off the wet forest floor. "I thought you said... two or three miles." Johnny puffed. He shrugged out of his coat, which had been draped around his shoulders, and gave it to John, who tied the sleeves around his waist before responding to the paramedic.

"That was my best guess. Hard to estimate when you're fightin' to stay in the air."

"Don't get me wrong, now, I'm not complaining. Roy'll tell ya, I never complain." Gage grinned and looked over at Roy who sat on a rock, head down, his hands between his knees. "Do I, Roy?" he continued, wondering why Roy didn't take the bait.

Roy sat in a world of misery. The headache which had plagued him since the accident was slowly dissipating, but the ache in his back increased incrementally. Frequently he experienced a stabbing sensation which set off corresponding flashes of pain radiating up into his shoulder and around his side. The climb up the steep ridge was wearing him out, too, much more than it should have, even with a bumped head. Getting up several times during the night to check on Johnny probably had something to do with his lethargy, he rationalized. If they could just get to the top, he could rest there.

"Roy."

He looked up. Johnny and John were staring at him.

"Hm?"

Gage looked at the chopper pilot and raised his left hand in frustration, letting it fall back into his lap. John continued to observe the senior paramedic with an experienced eye. Now he knew what had been bothering him about DeSoto.

"I seen this in Nam, Johnny," he said, talking to Gage but watching DeSoto. "Battle fatigue. It's not the bumps and bruises that get to you so much, but the stress of going down, of being in the unknown, of having everything that's familiar to you taken away."

"You've got a point, there," Roy admitted, although he knew there was more to it than that. "Johnny, I... "

The three men glanced up when they heard the distinct noise of a chopper's engine, growing closer. They never saw it, but it flew close enough over their heads to disturb the forest canopy and make the birds go silent for a minute.

"The sooner we get up to the clearing," said the pilot, "the sooner they're going to find us."

"Okay, let's go," Johnny agreed, taking his place beside the pilot again. Roy soon followed suit, supporting John on the left. But when he reached down to pick up the supply box, the pain slammed into him so hard he dropped it. His heart hammering, he felt Johnny's eyes on him, and managed a smile. "Tireder than I thought," he said by way of explanation, and bent over carefully to pick it up again. He would tell his partner about his suspicions when they could stop and rest. _God, just let me get up this hill._

The men resumed their climb. Occasionally they could hear the chopper, but it never came as close as it had before. Another hour went by.

"I think I see daylight just ahead, " John observed.

"Yeah, the trees are thinning," Johnny agreed. They went on, drawing on diminishing reserves, relieved that the long climb was behind them.

Just at the edge of the clearing, a small tree lay on its side, toppled by the winds of last night's storm. Johnny climbed over it first, then they sat John on the tree and swiveled his legs over. Roy bent to lift the supply box and gasped in pain, dropping the box and falling to his knees.

"Roy, what's wrong? Roy!?" Johnny was immediately at his partner's side. Roy was gasping for breath, his face pale and clammy. He shook his head, unable to speak for the pain bearing down on him.

"Roy, let's get you to sit down, here. I need to take a look at you... " As soon as Roy moved, however, he yelped in pain.

"Wait, wait... " Roy begged, trying to slow his breathing down. There were spots dancing in his vision and he knew he was on the verge of passing out. "Wait a second -- catch my breath."

Johnny knelt beside Roy in the mud, letting his partner lean on him until the weakness passed. He felt the trembling in the senior paramedic's body, the weak and rapid pulse in the hollow of his wrist.

"We've got to get one of us to the clearing, Roy, in case that chopper flies over. Look, I'll help John up there and come back to stay with you."

"No, it's all right," Roy managed, getting better control. "If you stand, I can pull up. Don't try to lift me, okay?" Roy's voice was weak and strained.

Johnny's concern for his friend was growing by the minute. _How did I miss this?_ he chastised himself, forgetting that he had been injured, too, and a little distracted.

Slowly, Johnny walked Roy up into the clearing, sitting him down next to a stump where he could lean back and rest while he went for the pilot. A third trip for the supply box left the dark-haired paramedic short of breath as he knelt down beside his friend. Roy was holding his left arm to his side, his breathing shallow. His eyes were slightly dilated; he shivered in the warm sunlight, and there was a tinge of blue around his lips. More alarms were going off in Gage's head.

"Roy, did you receive a blow to your side yesterday? Or your back?" He was working carefully to take his partner's coat off. He noticed Roy favored his left side continually.

"I f-fell... up against the squad when I brought Chet... down the hill," Roy replied, finding it more and more difficult to speak. "I thought I had... bruised a rib." Roy clenched his eyes shut and shook his head.

"Dizzy?"

"Yeah."

"Look, let's get you down on the ground, Roy, before you pass out. John, help me, will ya?" The pilot helped Johnny stretch Roy out on his discarded coat. Johnny unbuttoned Roy's shirt and pulled it and his t-shirt up on the left side. There was no evidence of rib damage, no bruising. "Roy, I'm going to turn you over and look at your back, okay? You know the routine - let me and John do the work - don't try to help us."

"Okay," Roy answered, groaning quietly when they turned him.

"Oh, Geez," John breathed, drawing a warning look and a swift shake of the head from Johnny.

Roy's back, just below the lower left ribs, was a mass of bruising. Angry red and black mottling covered the entire area, curving up under the ribs and around the side. The bruise was darkest in the center and wider horizontally than vertically.

Gage took a breath and got his expression under control before turning Roy over again onto his back. "John, help me pull Roy around so his head's downhill."

The pilot helped Gage drag Roy on the coat so that his head was now lower than his feet. "Roy, bend your knees, bring your feet up close to you - that's it."

Roy was moving slowly. He understood what his partner was doing and saying, but he was having a very hard time getting anything to work.

"Give me your coat," Gage requested of the pilot, who immediately removed the borrowed turnout coat and handed it to the paramedic. He covered his friend with it, tucking it in on the sides.

"Roy, you've to give me some more information, now, okay?"

"'Kay."

"Are you in a lot of pain?"

"Not so much... only when I... move."

"Did you suffer any blunt trauma during the crash, after your fall onto the squad?"

"Don't... don't think so."

Johnny turned to the chopper pilot. "I think he's damaged his spleen," he said, quietly. "He has all the signs of bleeding internally."

"Spleen?!" John exclaimed, then lowered his voice at Johnny's warning look. "Geez, Gage, I've seen soldiers shot in the spleen and they bled out in minutes! Roy couldn't have a hemorrhage, Johnny, or he'd be dead by now."

"I don't know," Johnny whispered, not wanting his partner to hear, "It's rare, but sometimes there can be a haemotoma, a bruising of the spleen, which worsens to the point it begins to bleed. The crash, then all this walking and lifting could have aggravated it." He turned back to Roy.

"You still with us, partner?"

"Yeah," Roy grunted. "Having some discomfort now." That alarmed Johnny. Roy was never one to complain, and if he said he had 'some discomfort,' he must really be hurting.

"Let me check." Gage gently palpated Roy's abdomen, just under the left rib cage. There was considerable rigidity and the exam brought on another spasm.

"Sorry!" Gage tried to comfort his friend. "Man, I'm sorry, Roy. I should've noticed you were hurting. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Didn't really know myself. Thought... thought was... bruised rib." Roy panted a minute. "Head hurt worse at first... "

Johnny remembered that major fractures or head trauma often masked the symptoms of a damaged spleen, and he knew firsthand that if you suffered an injury you'd never experienced before, your mind had trouble translating the damage signals it received into spoken language. Well, that was water under the bridge. If there was a need for him to beat himself up, he'd do it later. Roy was bleeding internally, that was certain. Just how much, remained to be seen. He knew what he was going to have to do...

"John, hand me the supply box, will ya?" While the pilot complied, Johnny stripped off his bandages and tested the shoulder. It hurt, but it functioned, and that was all that mattered right now. Johnny quickly removed an IV, a rubber tourniquet, and a bag of Ringers. When he approached Roy again the blond paramedic was shaking his head.

"No! Don't have... permission."

"Uh huh. Do you think for one minute that you wouldn't do the same for me? Save your breath, Roy."

Roy sighed and closed his eyes while Johnny prepared and inserted the IV, opening it all the way. Gage felt John looking at him, made eye contact.

"How many of those do you have left?" John asked.

"Two."

Both men knew if they didn't get off this ridge soon, it wouldn't be enough.

ooOOoo

Three hours later, John listened to the sounds of the helicopter as it made a pass on the other side of the ridge. Gage knelt next to his partner, talking to him softly, checking his IV and vitals often. Roy was on the second Ringers, which was now only half full.

"He's working a grid pattern," commented the pilot. "If the weather holds off, he should find us within the hour."

_I don't know if we've got an hour_, Johnny worried.

Roy was weakening before his eyes. He remained conscious, but he was suffering due to his injury and the pressure on his vital organs from the blood in his abdomen. He endured wave after wave of sharp, penetrating pain, saying nothing, but grasping Gage's hand so hard his fingers ached. Johnny was afraid for his friend, hovered over him as if trying to ward off the inevitable.

And still no rescue.

"Johnny?" Roy's breathing was shallow, his voice raspy, but he had to say this...

"Yeah, Roy. I'm right here."

Johnny's body language told Roy everything. He must be very near death, and his partner - his friend - knew it. Johnny was sitting cross-legged next to Roy, holding his hand, brushing his hair away from his eyes. His eyes were full, his jaw clenched.

"You... 'member that poem?"

"Poem?"

"Funeral... poem. Anon... "

"The anonymous poem they read at funerals so often? Did they read it at McCanby's funeral, Roy?"

"... 's the one."

Gage felt the pulse in his friend's neck. It was rapid and faint. He needed to keep Roy talking, keep him from lapsing into unconsciousness. "What about it?"

"Mm... " Another tremor shook Roy; Johnny wiped away the moisture that escaped DeSoto's closed lids.

When the paroxism had passed, Roy seemed more agitated. He looked around hazily, finally focusing on Gage's face again.

"Last line," he whispered.

Johnny wracked his brain, trying to remember the poem. How could I have heard that thing so many times and not know it by heart? The last line - something about family...

"Uh, wait a minute. Uh, 'protect my children,' something like that..."

"And... wife." Roy finished. "Johnny?"

"No, Roy."

"Johnny - promise... "

"Roy, don't." _Don't ask me this, Roy. Please God, don't make we watch Roy die! He's saved my life so many times, overlooked it when I was stupid, kept my rear end out of trouble beyond count. He's a brother to me, God! Please, please... _

"Take care... Joanne."

Johnny's imagination took over again. He saw himself approaching Joanne, telling her that her husband - her soul-mate since high school - wasn't coming home again. He saw Roy's children, their eyes large with grief, flying into his arms, arms which could not begin to compensate for the loss of their father. Gage looked down at his friend, struggling so hard and losing, and his self-control shattered. He leaned over his partner's body, dropping his head onto Roy's arm. John, sitting nearby, turned away, looked up at the sky and cursed.

Gage, straightening up, scrubbing his face with his hand. "Roy, you listen to me. You don't need to think about that right now... "

"No!" Roy's voice was loud in the stillness of the clearing. "You... listen to... _me_!" His voice had sunk back to a whisper. "Promise me... " He reached up, grasping Gage by the shirt. "Promise... "

Roy's blue eyes were pleading, begging him...

Gage placed his hand on top of Roy's head, the tears finally slipping from his eyes and running down his cheeks. "I promise. It's okay, Roy. I promise. As long as I live... " he began, but was overcome.

Roy shifted his hand from Johnny's shirt to his arm, and then dropped it back onto his chest as he lapsed into unconsciousness.

Johnny sat there a moment debating with himself, then grabbed another IV and the last bag of Ringers. At least until the half-full bag was gone, Roy was going to get two IV's, wide open.

John the Pilot watched him work, seeing the man's desperation to save his friend, and marveled at their friendship. He'd seen many, forged in the jungles of the Orient, the bonds deep and never severed, even in death. This was just such a friendship. The Viet Nam veteran wasn't much used to praying, but he offered up a sincere one now for these two men.

In the silence, he heard the chopper again. The approach sounded different...

"He's coming!" he yelled, jumping off the stump and nearly falling on his face. He grabbed a broken branch he'd dragged from the forest and began waving it frantically as the chopper passed over the clearing. He yelled and hollered, jumped up and down as best he could on one foot. Johnny joined him, waving his good arm. Both men knew the chopper pilot couldn't possibly hear them, but it felt good to break the silence, and it broke the tension, too.

In a moment, the chopper hovered overhead and they could see the pilot waving to them. The two men backed out of the way, standing next to Roy, so the pilot could land the craft. As soon as it touched down, two paramedics emerged from the chopper - Brice and another man Gage recognized but couldn't remember his name. Within minutes, all three men were stowed safely aboard the chopper and they were on the way to Rampart General. Brice was patched in to Rampart and Johnny soon heard Dixie's voice on the other end: "Just a moment - I'm getting Dr. Brackett."

Never had any words uttered sounded so sweet.

_ooOOoo_

"Roy, don't leave me. We need you here, honey."

_ And if, according to my fate. . ._

"Roy, baby, can you hear me?"

_ I am to lose my life. . ._

"Oh, God, I love him so much - I need him so much. Please give him back to me!"

_ Please bless with Your protecting hand. . ._

"Protect him, God. You gave him to me, remember? He's a wonderful husband and father, but you already know that..."

Roy heard the voice, recognized the words, but he couldn't make sense of them..

"Joanne?" Johnny stood behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder. She reached up and clasped it desperately.

"His fever's still high, Johnny. I know that post-operative infections are common after a splenectomy - Dr. Brackett told me - but still I... He's been vomiting; he doesn't know me... "

"I know." Johnny felt the trembling in Joanne's body and led her to a chair next to Roy's bed. She was just about done in - had been waiting at the hospital when they brought them in, had not left Roy's side since the surgery to remove his damaged spleen. It had been touch and go; despite the IV's, Roy was borderline hypovolemic in the ER and they couldn't wait to stabilize him before the surgery. Two more IV's had been started and they had rushed him up to OR.

Volunteers from 51's had donated whole blood for Roy and there had been a vigil round the clock in the waiting room by whoever was off duty. John, the helicopter pilot, had spent many hours there, too. Joanne was astounded and humbled by the sheer number of visitors. Now, two days later, despite all the support, prayers and well wishes, Roy was battling a septic infection which was drawing on his last energy stores, and for the second time in as many days, Johnny saw his friend close to death.

Joanne slumped in the chair and gave in to her emotions. She didn't mind crying in front of Johnny. He'd seen her cry before, and besides, he was family. Dixie came in, wrote something on Roy's chart, and glanced at Johnny. He dipped his head toward Joanne and looked toward the door. Dixie nodded and planted herself in front of Joanne.

"C'mon, young lady. Time for a break. You and I could use some fresh air."

"No thanks, Dix, I can't... "

"I won't hear any argument. Johnny'll stay with him while we're gone, won't you, Johnny?"

"Sure, Dix. Go ahead, Joanne. I'll come get you if he wakes up."

"Well... "

"C'mon. I'll only keep you a few minutes."

"All right," Joanne acquiesced, and let Dixie lead her from the room, not without a long look at her husband's feverish face.

Johnny return to Roy's side and picked up his hand. "Roy? Can you hear me?

"Look, partner, you're the one who always held vigil for me in this place, and I can't say I enjoy switching places with you."

_I never knew how hard it is, waiting to find out, wondering if you're ever going to wake up. All those times you've slept in a chair, never leaving me until you knew I was going to be okay... _

"Roy, if you can hear me, squeeze my hand. Can you do that for me? Just a squeeze... "

Roy never moved. The chart showed a temp of 103.7 and a low urine output. Kidneys already compromised, it was only a matter of time before...

"You heard Joanne. You've got to come back to us, man. You've _got_ to. You promised me, Roy. You said you'd be the one to go to the brush fires with me. Not Brice, not anyone else. _You_. You're my partner, Roy, the only partner I'll ever want. Your family needs you, Roy. _I_ need you."

Roy heard the words, but they drew farther and farther away, and somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind, he heard a wail of sorrow which slowly faded into the sound of rain on the treetops...

ooOOoo

Johnny stood near the casket, his vision blurred by unshed tears, and set his shoulders a little straighter. He heard the pastor's final words, the last amen, and saw the crowd begin to dissipate. He walked over to Joanne and lay a hand on her arm. "You about ready to go?"

Joanne let out a tremulous sigh. "Yes. Where's Roy?"

"He's talking to the pastor over there," he replied, pointing to his friend. Roy and the pastor talked for a minute more, then shook hands. As Roy approached them, Joanne leaned over to Johnny and whispered, "Isn't he just the handsomest thing?"

"Well, uh... " Thankfully, he was saved from having to make a reply by Roy's arrival.

"Hi, honey." Roy gave Joanne a hug. She hugged him back, careful of his still-healing incision.

"Hey, Junior," he smiled a greeting, then looked over to the waiting grave. His features grew thoughtful. "I hate these things, don't you?"

"Yeah," Johnny agreed, but they both knew funerals were just another part of what being a fireman was.

"I hear Dr. Brackett says in a four more weeks you can come back to work."

"If I keep on the way I have, I can," Roy said, grinning.

"Which means you, dear, are due for a nap right about now. Johnny, if you'll excuse us, I'm taking my husband home. Coming over tomorrow night for supper, right? Don't forget we're having that nice helicopter pilot over, too."

"Yeah, the one with the funny name," Roy quipped.

"Wouldn't miss it, Joanne," Johnny replied, darting a look of mock anger at his partner. "See ya later, Roy."

Roy smiled at him, locking gazes for a moment, then turned away with his wife. Johnny saw him pocket a folded piece of paper the pastor had given him. The senior paramedic moved carefully on the uneven turf, still favoring the left side, but he looked so much better than he did in that hospital room three weeks ago.

Johnny stood there for a few minutes after the DeSoto car had driven away. The air was cooler today, and breezy as the clouds rolled in once more. Several storm fronts had allowed the fire units to get control of the brush fires and they were all but out, now. Routine shift work was the order of the day again, and Johnny was due to go back on duty tomorrow morning after his regular time off.

He looked down at the freshly dug grave of the veteran firefighter who would rest there - thought about Manning, the Virginia firefighter who had given his life in the line of duty, McCanby, Roy's friend, who had left his family too soon. He thought about the promise he had made to Roy when he lay dying in the forest, and what a solemn promise that was.

And finally, he thought about the poem that was read again today, and the line that said: _I want to fill my calling and to give the best in me. . ._

Whoever had written that was either a firefighter or a firefighter's family member, and understood the calling they shared, and the need to fill that calling. It transcended everything - life, family - friends. It was a way of life. And, as life itself was accepted in all its forms - including death - so was the firefighter's calling.

But for now, his partner, his best friend in all the world, was spared - returned to his family and his friends. And Johnny realized that it was because - this time at least - God knew that Roy was ultimately the best one around to protect his children - and his wife.

End

_**When I saw the poem, "A Fireman's Prayer," an anonymous piece on the Fallen Heroes website, fallenheroes dot com, the basic outline of this story just flashed into my mind, something that rarely ever happens to me. I almost felt like I **__**had **__**to write it. I got my information about Roy's injury from an article entitled, "Acute Injury to the Adult Spleen: Evolution in Diagnosis and Management," by Matthew J. Kuehnert, M.D. (P&S Medical Review: Nov 1993, Vol.1, No.1). Fortunately, injuries like Roy's are now often manageable and a splenectomy unnecessary. There was a high incidence of infection after a spleen had been removed, such as Roy suffered, so it's infinitely better to leave the **__**organ where it belongs, if at all possible. - W**_


End file.
